The Princess' Harem
Chapter 73: Lazarus’s Obsession

Chapter 73: Lazarus’s Obsession

Morning light filtered through the towering stained-glass windows of Valendale’s palace, casting streaks of gold and red across the war table.

Prince Rayne sat in his private study, half-dressed in his military tunic, leather bracers unfastened as he sifted through diplomatic reports from his father’s council. His tea remained untouched, cooling beside the stacks of parchment.

The usual concerns filled the documents—trade negotiations, border disputes, whispers of unrest. Nothing unexpected.

A knock at the door broke the quiet.

One of his attendants entered, bowing briefly before holding out a sealed letter—golden wax, pressed with Elysia’s royal crest.

Rayne accepted it, his fingers brushing over the familiar emblem. Viana.

His expression didn’t change as he broke the seal, unfolding the parchment with practical ease. But as his eyes scanned the inked words, his posture shifted.

Prince Arin. Shadow Clan. Slave routes disguised as trade shipments.

His jaw tightened.

He had anticipated Arin’s return, had kept an ear to the ground for rumors, but this—this was a fully formed operation.

War was not just coming. It was being orchestrated. Rayne read the letter twice, then again, methodically absorbing every detail.

Viana was sharp. She never exaggerated threats, never wasted words on speculation.

If she had sent this letter, if she had chosen him to receive it directly—it meant something.

His fingers ran along the parchment’s edge as his thoughts flickered to the last time he had seen her. Not the formal meetings, not the council discussions.

But the banquet. The dance. The balcony. The kiss.

Well, not a kiss, as she had so fiercely corrected. His lips twitched slightly, amused despite the gravity of the situation.

She’s probably still angry about that.

Yet she had still written to him. Trusted him enough to send this warning.

Rayne pushed himself to stand, rolling his shoulders as the weight of the letter settled into his chest.

"Send word to my father’s council," he told his attendant, his voice clipped but steady. "I want a closed meeting—today."

The man hesitated. "Your Highness, the council has strict scheduling—"

Rayne held up the letter. "This is more important than whatever trade agreement they’re debating."

A pause. Then a nod. "Right away, Your Highness."

Rayne tapped the parchment against his palm, staring at Viana’s signature, the ink drying under the morning sun.

You are a prince, but you are also a soldier.

He smirked faintly. "Damn right I am."

And if Arin thought Valendale was his for the taking, he was about to learn exactly what that meant.

***

Morning light spilled into the lavish chamber, casting long streaks of gold across black marble floors. Count Lazarus sat at the center of it all—still, composed, unmoving—but the tension in his grip betrayed the calm he portrayed.

The letter lay open before him, the words sharp and undeniable.

Princess Viana traveled to the border. Alone. Just her and Joel, one of her Royal Guards.

She had already come back. He head seen her in court, heard the council praise her diplomatic efforts, listened to King Clive accept her actions without hesitation. Without question. Without punishments.

She had left. And now she had returned, completely unscathed. The realization settled like acid in his throat.

She had traveled beyond the kingdom’s wall, taken action without him, acted without his approval—and worse, she had done it with Joel.

Lazarus exhaled slowly, keeping his movements measured, his posture unshaken. But something fractured in his mind.

She had done this on purpose.

Viana had always played her game too well—slipping past political restraints, walking the fine line between duty and defiance, knowing exactly how to push boundaries without toppling them.

She had spent years ignoring him, sidestepping his advances with careful precision—dismissing his offers, evading his influence. Always elusive, always untouchable.

And yet—he wanted her.

He didn’t know when the desire had taken root, but now it consumed him.

It wasn’t love. It was never love.

It was ownership.

She was a jewel, meant to be polished, presented, admired. His future queen. His power. His prize.

And she had gone off with him. His fingers curled against the letter.

Joel. The Mercenary King, the stray dog at her side, the man she had chosen to keep close despite all the better alternatives.

Had she enjoyed it? The solitude, the secrecy—just the two of them, away from the palace, away from him?

The thought was unbearable.

His mind darkened further.

Prince Rayne.

Lazarus’s sneer was bitter. The prince had been just another player in the game, another fool convinced that charm and wit could earn him favor.

But he had seen them at the banquet. The way she danced with him. The way she let Rayne hold her, let him whisper in her ear.

And then the balcony. Lazarus hadn’t seen what happened—only pieces of the moment, just enough to make his blood run cold.

He had watched as they disappeared into the shadows together, as Viana had returned moments later with a face carefully guarded.

And Reyes.

Pathetic. Blind loyalty, unwavering devotion, as if his dedication would ever mean anything.

The knight followed her like a worshiper at an altar, desperate for a glance, a word, a shred of acknowledgment.

And Arden.

Lazarus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

The scholar—the quiet strategist in her corner, the trusted advisor she depended on for far more than diplomacy.

Did she even realize how vulnerable she had made herself?

Surrounding herself with men who wanted her, who were drawn to her in ways they had no right to be.

None of them understood what she was meant to be.

None of them understood that she wasn’t meant for them.

She was meant to belong to him.

Lazarus tapped a finger against the marble, rolling his shoulders, forcing himself back into control.

She thought it was over. That she had taken action, made her own choices, handled affairs on her terms.

But this was not over. He couldn’t act yet, not directly, not with the king’s eye on her. But her defiance would not go unanswered.

She would learn.

She would understand what happens when she defies him. The candlelight wavered, casting sharp shadows against the walls.

Lazarus smiled faintly, an empty, soulless thing.

There were ways to fix that.